Well.

Dave Eggers once wrote that he spent an entire month reading this when it was released. And added that it’s impossible to mutter an “eh” when finished with it, saying the book will change your life for the better.

I think he’s right about it changing things.

The first 15 pages stormed me. Then, I felt David Foster Wallace was merely trying to impress and masturbate onto pages in some self-loving way that Jonathan Franzen can be prone to coming close to; after appx. 150-200 pages, however, that went away.

This book is filled with subjects and words and places but it’s coherent, funny, inspiring and disgusting, bewildering, simple and complex. At times it felt like a drag, but mostly it’s really, really good.

Every sentence feels thoughtful and sincere, and at the same time, I got the feeling (which is still in-place) that’s simple; all you need is genius.

I have finally finished. I started in on this book a few years ago – that’s right years – and have only now just reached the end. And I wouldn’t so much call it “reading” as a test in persistence and determination. Thankfully, Wallace’s style of writing appeals to me, so it wasn’t as painful as Ulysses (which I still have yet to finish.) Other than the extended breaks I took, it was actually a casual read.